The Suicide Sessions
by LosGatos
Summary: After Sherlock fell, even his brother began to doubt his legitimacy. Mycroft is now conducting interviews with people linked to Sherlock to uncover the truth. But who can give them some answers?
1. Chapter 1: The Schoolboy

Jensen Venture stared at the clock on the wall. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The teacher was standing at the front of the classroom, giving off whatever guff he was giving off today. All of a sudden Jensen felt his phone vibrate inside his coat. Making sure no one was looking, he found he had a text. It was from Elmer. Elmer seemed to know everything before it happened. He was a sort of information broker to the pupils of Rathbone Way Secondary School. Jensen opened the text.

"_SHE'S COM 2 GET U." _

Wondering who "She" could possibly be, he looked out of the window. A black Citroën with tinted windows had pulled up in the car park and a woman wearing black had gotten out. Jensen evaluated the possibilities. Death? Black is usually a sign someone's died. Won the lottery? Given the expensive car, and the fact that the woman was wearing a suit, it was possible. Sherlock? It was Sherlock.

The woman knocked on the door. The teacher answered. Without speaking, the mystery woman handed Mr Jameson a note. As he read it, a grim look came upon his face. "Jensen. Jensen Venture?" He called out. "Yes sir?" There was a tone of nervousness in his voice. "Pack your bags, you're going."

"Wha-" "Don't say a word." Said the woman flatly. "You'll get your answers in due course." They got into the car. It felt like he was sitting there for ages, watching country roads pass by. He eventually decided to fall asleep, but before he could do such a thing, the driver slammed on the brakes. They had stopped. They had stopped at an expensive looking country house. "Follow me," Said the woman as she got out. As they walked towards the house, Jensen noticed a bronze plaque. The plaque read, "_DIOGENES CLUB." _It all seemed a bit suspicious. But after that, he couldn't remember what happened.

When he woke up, Jensen was sitting in a darkened room. He was tied to a chair. He could feel the damp coming through the cracks in the wall. Jensen guessed the room was square, maybe about 10 feet by 10. There was a steel door at the end of the room he was facing. He could hear a clock somewhere, but not see it. It was too dark. He was sitting at a wooden table. It was like something out of a war movie, the scene where they interrogate the bad guys. Just then, he saw a crack of light coming through the door. Then the door opened. The person entering was fuzzy at first, but he was clearly wearing a suit, just like the woman. The man sat down at the other end of the table. He spoke. "You will not ask questions. You will answer all of my questions truthfully and without hesitation. Do I make myself clear?" He didn't sound like a man who thought this was unusual. "I know my rights," Snapped Jensen. "Get me a solicitor, you can't do this to me, I'm sixteen for Christ's sake." The man was grinning. "I disagree, Mr Venture. I can do this to you. Any solicitor will be powerless to stop me. Besides, I'm not here to hurt you. I want answers. Nothing too personal. Now, do I make myself clear?" He said this with a slight tone of glee in his voice. Jensen nodded. "Good. Now, I am going to tell you my name. It may sound familiar, but say nothing. And don't mention this name outside this room. You signed the Official Secrets Act, remember?" Jensen didn't remember, but the strange man showed him a document. Yep. Official secrets act. And there, at the bottom in crystal clear black and white, was his signature. He was silently wondering what manner of despicable things they had done to him. "My name is Mycroft Holmes." Said the man.

"Question number one. Are you Jensen William Venture, of 46 Manchurian Way, London?"  
>Jensen nodded. He hated his full name. He thought it was a bit too middle class.<br>"Question number two. Have you, at any point prior to the apparent suicide of the subject, Met Sherlock Holmes?"  
>Jensen again nodded.<br>"What was the nature of your encounter?" Mycroft asked.  
>"I sent him an email asking him to solve a robbery at my house." The boy began. "I thought it was a bit of a joke, to be honest. But he turned up. Said it was a slow day and that he would be in and out in 5 minutes. He was telling the truth."<br>"How did he solve it, and what was his conclusion?" Mycroft seemed more and more intrigued.  
>Jensen explained. "He asked what had been taken. I told him it was the car, and he immediately set to work. He saw traces of oil around the spot the car keys were before they were taken. He said that he could smell booze in the air, more specifically Harp Lager. He asked me if there were any mechanics in the area, and I told him there was one down the street. We went down there, and sure enough he was trying to sell it to some guy. Sherlock said it was the easiest money he had ever made. That guy got arrested for grand theft auto and they found a load of drugs in his flat."<br>"How long ago was this?" Asked Mycroft.  
>"About 6 months."<p>

"Okay, then." Answered Mycroft. His face changed. It had an almost sad look about it now.  
>"Last question. Have you, Jensen William Venture, at any point after the apparent suicide of the subject, met, observed, or otherwise encountered the man known as Sherlock Holmes?"<br>"I have not." Came the simple reply.  
>At this point, two men entered the room and freed Jensen from his chair. Mycroft looked almost disappointed. "Then you are free to go." Jensen did so. Had, however, he turned around; he would surely have seen the silent man sitting in the corner. "Well, then." Said Mycroft. "That was the first person. What do you think?" "Irrelevant." Replied John. "It doesn't tell us anything. I was away during that case."<p>

Mycroft looked disappointed. "Alright." He sighed. He reached for a microphone. "Did you record all that?" "Affirmative." Replied the invisible voice.

"Then send in the next one."


	2. Chapter 2: The Preacher

Mycroft was frustrated that the schoolboy had given him nothing. All that trouble for a few words about a minor mystery. What a farce. With any luck, he would gain more of an insight from the next man. "Who's the next one?" Asked John. "A priest, the first one on the scene when he jumped." Explained Mycroft. John nodded with acknowledgement. "He tried to stop me from seeing the body, the blood…. Oh, god, he may have had the right idea."

The agents carried the priest in and sat him on the chair. The man looked like he had been sick. His clerical collar was missing, and there were clear marks on his jumper to suggest it had not been washed for quite some time. A few minutes passed. The man woke up with a jolt. "Where am I? What have you done to me?" He was obviously scared. He was young for a priest, only about thirty years old or so. Mycroft was unmoved by his traumatized demeanour. "Confirm. You are Rev. Andrew Peters of Dorset, are you not?" The man nodded. "And you admit that you have signed the Official Secrets Act?" Again, the man nodded. "He remembers more than the boy."  
>Mycroft began his question and answer routine again.<br>"Question number one. Where were you on the day Sherlock Holmes allegedly committed suicide?"  
>"I was in London for the day," Explained the priest. "And as I was making my way to the train station, I saw this man on the roof of the hospital. I wondered, where have I seen that man before? And then I remembered seeing him in the papers that morning. "The Great Fraud Detective," They called him." As he was saying this, John was fighting back the tears.<br>"And what did you do when you saw him?"  
>Well, nothing. At first. He was talking on the phone; I hoped someone might have been talking him out of it."<br>Goodness knows John tried.  
>"And then he puts the phone down and jumps. No screaming. Just falling. And then he hit the ground. That's when I went running towards him. I was he first one there.<p>

"Can you confirm the body belonged to Sherlock Holmes?"  
>"I can. I got a good look at his face. It was him, alright. I still see it now. His eyes were cold, black and staring. His skin- His skin was cold. Very cold. I took his pulse- Nothing. His heart had totally stopped. He was dead, Mr British Agent.<br>Mycroft was looking faintly sad now. "I have to ask you one more question now, reverend. But I believe I already know the answer. Do you believe Sherlock Holmes may still be alive?"  
>"I do."<br>Mycroft was taken aback. "You do? Why's that?"  
>Because I do, sir. Be it some intervention from the almighty or medical science or otherwise, I believe we have not heard the last from London's finest detective. I don't think he was a fraud, no. He was simply a man of logic."<p>

"You may go."  
>The Agents performed the same as they did with the boy. John was in the corner, on the verge of crying.<br>"What- What did we have to learn from that?" He asked.  
>"I wanted to show you that there are people out there who believe what you do, Watson. I knew this man would say what he said. All that being surprised was just a façade."<br>"How could you possibly have known that?" John asked.  
>"He was the first person the papers interviewed. They published the interview, but they hated him. They wanted the entire public to back them and their smear campaign. This humble priest was the first sign that people believed in a madman." John was pleased that others thought Sherlock was a real detective. If he had enough supporters, he could unmask the ugly truth.<p>

"Before we bring the next one in, tell me a little about him." Said John. "Scholomon or something, wasn't it?" Mycroft nodded. "Scholomer Kohls. A German mortician, brought in from another hospital. He dealt with the body." "What an unusual name. How do you pronounce that?"  
>"Scholomer. Skaw-low-mer coles."<p> 


	3. Chapter 3: The German

Scholomer Kohls entered the room. John was quite keen to hear what he had to say. Hang on, something was different. Kohls walked into the room. He had not been drugged. "Mr Kohls has approached us with the idea of him telling the whole story to us. There's no need for handcuffs or drugs." Mycroft had explained all this to John before Kohls came in. John was in the shadows. Supposedly invisible. And yet, when Scholomer entered the room, he caught sight of john. And he stared him right in the face and smiled with his eyes. But it was not a smile of happiness. It was a smile that said "Look at yourself now, you idiot. You're sitting in a government interrogation room, desperately hoping for some news about your dead friend."  
>It's amazing how much a man's eyes can convey.<br>They were faint eyes too. Like a man who had stared down death. Who had looked into the other side and saw nought but a black light. But that was to be expected from a man who dealt with bodies all day. But the thing that caught john's attention was his short black hair. It looked as though it had recently been cut. And there was a huge gash down the side of his head.

Scholomer Kohls sat down. Mycroft began.  
>"Herr Kohls, just for the record, can you please confirm your name, place of birth and nationality?"<br>When Kohls spoke, his accent was strange. There was no doubt it belonged to a man who had lived in London all his life, but he was still an authentic German.  
>"My name is Scholomer Kohls, and I was born in London to German parents."<br>"Excellent." Mycroft replied. "Now, if you would please state the reason you are here."  
>"I am here because the truth must come out. I believe Sherlock Holmes is still alive."<br>"Describe what happened on the day Sherlock died."  
>"I was working at a hospital a few miles down the road. I was going to clock out, when I got the call saying that Sherlock Holmes had committed suicide and that St. Bartholomew's needed a mortician because their own one had a breakdown. Molly Something. I forget."<br>"And what happened then?" Mycroft was keen to push the German for more.  
>"It was a celebrity case, I couldn't say no. When I got to the hospital, I saw the body first thing. I performed the usual checks: X-rays, Blood tests, that sort of thing. The results matched all known samples. The blood was Sherlock's, all traces of skin at the site belonged to the man himself."<br>The two men were mystified and intrigued.  
>"If the results came up positive, why do you think he may still be alive?" Mycroft asked him.<p>

The German took a deep breath.  
>"I had stepped outside to take a break for five minutes. When I walked back in, there was a senior police officer telling me to leave, as apparently, His body had been taken for examination at some police facility a few streets away. One of my friends works at the station, so I called him up to ask him about it. He said there was no word of such a thing occurring."<p>

Mycroft seemed satisfied, but John spoke to a subject for the first time.  
>"Herr Kohls, if you don't mind, where did that gash on the side of your head come from?"<br>"An accident. I fell whilst getting out of the taxi that took me home."  
>John wasn't too sure about that, but he decided not to press further.<br>"You are free to go." Said Mycroft.  
>With this, the German stood up and left.<p>

"Are you satisfied, John? Are you absolutely, without a doubt, 159% confident that your friend, Sherlock Holmes, is alive and well?  
>"Not yet," Replied Watson quietly. "I want the name and full details of that police officer who told Kohls to leave. She'll know. She probably arranged the whole thing."<br>The elder Holmes became impatient.  
>"And she's probably innocent! I have doubts, Mr Watson. Same as you. But what you have to remember is that you don't call the shots around here. I do. So I suggest you take the German's word as the ultimate truth. There is a loose code of ethics for this sort of thing. We don't just go around abducting people! We need justification, we need planning, we need….. You know, somehow I don't think you appreciate how hard it is to do what I do. It's important that justice is done, but there are rules to make sure it is done properly! And John Watson, for as long as I walk this Earth, you will abide by those rules!"<p>

John was unmoved. "I never said I wanted to kidnap her. I just wanted her details."


End file.
